


Squibs

by canonjohnlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Parentlock, Second Wizarding War, Wizard John, Wizard Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonjohnlock/pseuds/canonjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler turns eleven. John and Sherlock have a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squibs

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to my amazing beta, Julia. Love you, boo. <3

“Watson, look out!” someone shouted a bit too late.

John felt immense pain in his shoulder as he crumpled to the ground. His vision was going out and, God, his shoulder was on fire. He sucked in a deep breath and hissed at the pain. Oh, God, I’m dying, I’m dying and I’m all alone and please someone help. He stared up at the sky, the stars twinkling despite the War raging beneath it. Flashes of blues and reds and greens flew above him and people trampled beside him, paying him no mind. Cheering broke out around John. He was unsure of which side was cheering but he didn’t care. His shoulder was on fire. No one cared about an injured soldier who could possibly be dying. People were celebrating about him as he lay there, struggling to keep awake.

A person with strong arms picked him up from the ground and ran with him toward the Healers. John saw figures stumbling around him while he lay on the hard table. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Distantly he heard Healers saying he probably wouldn’t make it. As he let his eyes slip closed, he wondered if the War was worth it. 

* * *

John Watson woke up sweaty and trembling around three in the morning. His breaths were quickened and his heart rate was elevated. He lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, the image of twinkling stars fading slowly. It was just a dream, he told himself. John moaned and tried to push his memories of the Second Wizarding War to the back of his mind.

He had given up magic shortly after the War and tucked his wand in a locked box in a storage garage on the other side of London. He stopped contacting everyone he knew from the Wizarding world and started a new life, recovering from the losses and tragedies of the War. Watching a friend die, watching them take their last breaths as Healers try to fix him, hearing your name on a dying person’s lips, watching the light fade from their eyes and feeling their body slowly go cold as you hold them changes you as a Wizard. John refused to do magic once the war was over. It hurt too much.

He rolled onto his side and studied his partner’s pale, smooth back. Light scars slashed across his back, making a grotesque pattern. He ran a hand over his partner’s muscles and scars and felt him stir in his sleep.

“Mmhm, John?” Sherlock asked, rolling over to face him. “Are you okay?” He blinked groggily and scooted closer to John.

John nodded, smiling softly at Sherlock. “I’m fine; just some Afghanistan flashbacks is all.” He hated lying to the man he loved but what was he supposed to do? You can’t just tell someone you have magical powers and expect them to be cool about it.

Sherlock brought his eyebrows together and frowned. He placed a gentle kiss on John’s forehead and wrapped his arms around him. “You’re not there anymore, John. You’re here. And you’re safe here.”

John smiled and intertwined their fingers, studying the matching gold bands on their fingers. He had left that life behind. He was Muggle now and he must act like one. 

* * *

They had a son, Sherlock and John. His name was Tyler and he was growing up too fast for Sherlock’s liking. He would often complain to John about how fast time was passing and John would say, “What do you want me to do? Get a time machine?”

The two of them would laugh and Tyler would roll his eyes as he worked on his homework. Sherlock would try very hard not to think of the time turner he had stashed in Mycroft’s office, hidden beneath a rug under a floorboard.

Tyler Oliver Watson-Holmes was biologically Sherlock’s son. The evidence was there and no one could disagree. Sherlock had fervently tried to get John to donate his sperm so little Tyler would be a Muggle. John, however, had insisted that Sherlock donate his sperm. In the end, they ended up mixing their sperm and when Tyler closely resembled Sherlock, Sherlock hoped he would be a squib.

* * *

“Ravenclaw,” the sorting hat shouted as it sat upon a certain dark-haired boy’s head.

Sherlock headed over to the Ravenclaw table and sat next to some other first years and continued mumbling which house they would be in before the sorting hat announced it. He came to the conclusion that his housemates were as idiotic as the rest of the school, despite being known for their intelligence.

Sherlock was especially interested in Transfiguration and Potions. He felt like he had power in those classes because he was exceptionally good at them. He wasn’t called a freak in those classes; he was looked to for help, but he always declined helping the other students. They wouldn’t understand anything Sherlock would say because they were so dull.

Sherlock wanted to be an Animagus. He had heard his brother talking about Animagi around the dinner table while he was at Hogwarts. Sherlock was antsy to get to Hogwarts so he could learn about this special skill. Of course, the information on Animagi was taught during third year. Sherlock tried to get Professor McGonagall to teach him about them after classes were over but she said he must wait until third year. Sherlock left her classroom with a scowl.

Sherlock Holmes was not very popular in his house. His housemates often mumbled behind his back about how he belonged in Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw. Rumors spread that he was from a family of dark wizards and he was a descendent of Voldemort himself. No one knew that he often released horned slugs from the green houses so they wouldn’t be used in potions or that he frequently gave an owl an extra Galleon or two.

Sherlock actually kept a low profile during his time at Hogwarts, only getting a few detentions, and never did he ever cross paths with John Watson. 

* * *

“Your eleventh birthday is coming up soon,” John noted as he made Tyler some eggs and toast. “Want anything special for a gift?”

Sherlock snorted. “Gifts are frivolous, John. Their only purpose when given on birthdays is to congratulate someone on living for another year.”

“Sherlock!” John scolded, throwing a dishrag at him. “Pay no mind to Dad, over there. Sometimes he’s just idiotic when he thinks we won’t get you something for you birthday.” Tyler giggled and Sherlock gave John an offended look.

Sherlock stood from his chair in the living room and walked over to his boys, reaching for the tea John was handing him. “Don’t listen to Papa. I’m not idiotic; I just find it ridiculous that it is required we give presents to people just for being born. It’s not that big of an achievement to be expelled from a-”

“Sherlock!” John hissed, pinching his hip to stop him from continuing.

Tyler looked at both of them curiously before deciding he didn’t care. “Daaaaaad, presents just make the whole day better! And so does cake,” Tyler added, looking pointedly at John.

“Your dad just likes to pretend he doesn’t understand gift giving but he always gets us something on our birthdays and Christmas, don’t you?” John teased, grinning up at Sherlock.

“You git,” Sherlock chuckled, putting his hands on John’s waist and pulling him in for a kiss. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and threaded his fingers through his thick, curly hair.

“Yuck!” Tyler shouted, covering his eyes. “That’s disgusting!”

His dads laughed and linked pinkies beneath the table. “So what do you want for your birthday, Ty?” Sherlock asked.

Tyler steepled his hands before his lips as Sherlock often did and thought. “New football cleats! And a medical kit or a science kit!” he exclaimed proudly, smiling widely at John and Sherlock. He certainly was an amazing little boy.

Sherlock kissed John’s cheek before he left to walk Tyler to school and John thought he couldn’t be happier. He needn’t worry about Tyler receiving a letter inviting him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sherlock was a Muggle and that meant Tyler was one, too. 

* * *

John had been an Auror before he left the Wizarding world. And he was very good at what he did he liked to think. He was top of his year and the Head Boy. He had always wanted to be one. John’s father had been an Auror and he often told John and his sister about the battles he fought in the First Wizarding War.

The training to be an Auror was hard, John would admit, but he made it through and began hunting down Death Eaters and dark witches and wizards alike. His job became much harder when little Harry Potter claimed Voldemort had returned. John didn’t believe the messy-haired little rug rat. Voldemort had been destroyed; he couldn’t return. Right?

John was wrong, of course. He heard that same little green-eyed boy was now the youngest Head of the Auror office. After the Second Wizarding War, John no longer cared about what was happening in the Wizarding world. 

* * *

“He’s going to be a doctor like you, you know,” Sherlock noted, brushing his lips over John’s back.

John, with his back pressed against Sherlock’s chest, scoffed. “Oh, please, Sherlock. He adores you. Tyler’s going to follow in your footsteps. Hell, I’d even say he’s getting better at deductions than you.”

Sherlock laughed. “Suppose you’re right. Which is rare.”

“Hey!” John pouted in mock offense. He elbowed Sherlock gently in his stomach.

They were quiet for a while; enjoying the after-sex haze they were in.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered softly into John’s ear. Despite Sherlock having said those three words to John so frequently, it still made John’s heart speed up and warmth spread through his body.

“I love you, too,” John replied, turning to face Sherlock. He pressed his lips to his and they kissed lazily until Tyler bounded up the stairs and into the flat.

“Dad! Papa! George Lestrade is here! He’s got a locked room triple murder!” Tyler shouted from the kitchen.

“It’s Greg!” Lestrade corrected. “Please hurry up. I can’t promise Anderson won’t touch anything!”

Sherlock ran out of the room, pants still around his thighs and shirt unbuttoned. “I can’t work with Anderson! You know that!” he whined, zipping up his pants.

“Why are you half-dressed…?” Lestrade asked dumbly. He held up his hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“Dad, can I come?” Tyler asked excitedly.

“Sure,” Sherlock responded, slipping his hand into Tyler’s.

“Not so fast,” John said, pulling a jumper over his head as he walked out of the bedroom. “How much homework do you have?”

Tyler looked down at his feet. “Only an hour’s worth,” he mumbled. He saw John’s skeptical look and began pleading. “Oh, please, Papa! It’s a triple homicide in a locked room! This is the best case we’ve had in a while! Please!” He jutted his bottom lip out and Sherlock did the same. Those gits.

“Oh, fine!” John said, throwing up his hands. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Two days after Sherlock’s birthday, his letter inviting him to Hogwarts still had not come. Mycroft kept teasing him, telling him he was a squib. Sherlock would cry and run to room and pray that he wasn’t.

His letter came the next day with elegant green ink inviting him to study at Hogwarts. He wasn’t nervous at all. Sherlock thought some time away from his family would do him well. He could be his own person. And he could finally learn curses to put on Mycroft like Mycroft had done to him against school rules.

He sat on the train to Hogwarts, watching as the other kids boarding joked and teased with each other. No one sat in Sherlock’s compartment. Sherlock didn’t mind. He just splayed out and began reading The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One. He got to chapter two and tried out the Wand-Lighting Charm. He was proud of himself for getting it for the first time.

When the Hogwarts Express Sweets Trolley came around and Sherlock bought Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and Sugar Mice, he paid no attention to the sandy-haired, third year boy in the compartment across from him whom everyone called ‘John Watson’.

Sherlock knew he wanted to be an Animagus and he’d be damned if he never achieved it. He found himself excelling in his Transfiguration class and coming back to Professor McGonagall third year and beyond after classes were over to learn more. She was glad to help since Sherlock was enthusiastic about it and he truly was great at it.

When he finally became an Animagus, he took the form of a sleek, black wolf with glittering blue-green eyes.

He often gathered information in his wolf-form since most dark wizards had no way of knowing who he was or if he was even lurking in the shadows most of the time. Sherlock had gotten away with capturing Death Eaters in their sleep and bringing them in to be questioned and then imprisoned.

Sherlock left the Wizarding world after he watched his best friend die at the hands of a Death Eater. Victor was no longer alive and Sherlock did not want to practice magic anymore. 

* * *

“Happy Birthday, Tyler,” Sherlock whispered to Tyler as they sat around a table at Angelo’s. “Make a wish.” This was the day Sherlock had been dreading. Please be a squib.

Tyler squeezed his eyes shut tight and when they flew open, he blew out the candles on his small, round cake. “Thank you so much!” he yelled, wrapping his arms around both Sherlock and John.

“You’re welcome, Ty,” John said with affection. He kissed his forehead and turned to Sherlock. “Should we let Tyler open his presents now or should we wait until we get home?” John asked teasingly.

Sherlock rubbed his chin in mock thought. “I think we should wait until we get home. What do you think, Tyler?”

“I think I wanna open them nooooooow,” he pouted.

“Oh, all right,” Sherlock and John said at the same time. They pulled his gifts out from beneath the table and smiled fondly at their son.

“Happy birthday, my baby boy,” Sherlock said, handing Tyler his gift.

Later that night, after Tyler had gone to bed with his new cleats, medical kit, and science kit, John heard a rapping on the window. He looked up worriedly and saw an owl perched on the window seal, a sealed envelope in its beak.

“Oh, shit! Shit!” he exclaimed loudly before clapping a hand over his mouth. He thanked God that Sherlock was in the shower so he didn’t hear John. How on earth was Tyler a wizard? His mother must have been one. She must have. Or maybe Ty was a muggleborn. That was possible. Sherlock was definitely not a Wizard.

John opened the window as quietly as possible and the owl flew in, resting on the mantle waiting for John to take the envelope. John ran the back of his finger down the owl’s soft, feathery coat and walked to the floorboard where he had hidden all his money. He pulled out a single Galleon and just as he was about to slip it in the owl’s pouch, Sherlock walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Hey, John? Have you ever considered-” Sherlock cut off when he saw the owl and the letter in John’s hand with shimmering green ink. John had stuck the galleon in his pocket.

“I can explain!” they both shouted at once. “I’m a wizard…” They trailed off, staring at each other. “You’re a wizard, too? TOO!?”

Tyler walked down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked tiredly.

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance before Sherlock stepped forward and placed a hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

“Yer a wizard, Tyler.”

 


End file.
